


Caiti's 1st Magnificent Seven Bingo

by Caiti (Caitriona_3)



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Diary/Journal, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Legends, Mag7 Bingo Challenge, Scars, Tumbleweeds, Watchfires, vulnerable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five entries - one line - BINGO</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Magnificent Seven Bingo Card

**Author's Note:**

> My first M7 bingo collection! Prompts filled: Diaries/Journals, Blowing Tumbleweeds, Scars, Retelling a Myth or Legends, and "In the shadows of the watchfires"

[](http://s591.beta.photobucket.com/user/Caitriona3/media/Bingo/M7_zps8fabee13.jpg.html)


	2. Out of Unconsciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vin hates hospitals
> 
> Prompt - "In the shadows of the watchfires"

_…where am I…dark…in bed…beeping sounds…clean smell…too clean…too quiet…_

Vin Tanner’s mind labored to catalogue what little information his senses were feeding it. Touch, sound, scent – it was all he had. His eyes felt too heavy to open, but there was no light seeping through. It had to be dark. _Just dark, or is it night?_ He could feel the sheets beneath his hands, too crisp for his – at either home. _Not my bed._ So where then? He listened harder. The beeping noise kept a steady rhythm. He knew that rhythm…if he could just place it. _Heartbeat._ That was it. The beeping was following the same rhythm as a heartbeat. _Bleach. Lemons._ The scent of bleach mixed with lemons gave him the final clues he needed.

_Hospital._

Damn, he hated hospitals. _What happened?_ He forced himself to remain still, eyes closed. He wanted to look around. He wanted to get out. He wanted find some privacy. The problem? He had no idea if he was safe, or what was wrong with him.

_Drugged; I’ve got to be. Too sluggish to be anything else. Pain’s dull, too. Left leg and shoulder…strange kind of pounding in my head. What the hell happened?_

He delved into his memories, trying to remember the last thing before waking up.

_The bust – I was in the scaffolding, watching Ez do his thing._

He could see it in his mind. The target chose to hold the meeting in a construction site at six in the morning. Ezra Standish had been less than impressed, but agreed. Vin got there the night before to set up. A quick scout of the location yielded two spots he could use. One provided better protection for him, but less coverage of the floor. It left the team’s undercover agent more vulnerable. The second location definitely gave a better view, but it left him exposed if he was spotted. He took the second choice.

_Team first, then the individual._

It had always been his creed, and he did not plan on changing it, regardless of the danger. He learned some new combinations of curse words the next morning when his teammates got a good look at him. He had almost fallen out of his perch when the first voice thundered in his ear.

**“Vin Tanner, what the _hell_ kind of position do you call that?”**

**A moment of sheer surprise kept the radios silent as JD Dunne’s furious voice echoed out to everyone. The kid never talked like that to one of them. The cursing started when the rest of the team realized what JD had seen.**

**“Damn it, Tanner!” Chris Larabee’s voice seethed. Vin could picture the team leader looming over their tech’s shoulder to glare at the surveillance screen. After a long moment, Chris snapped out. “You get yourself into trouble, and I will shoot you myself.” An almost silent growl fed through before Chris spoke once more. “Everyone into place. I want this quick and clean before Vin gets himself killed.” As Vin heard the rest of the team moving around, Chris spoke once more. “You better have a good explanation for that choice, Tanner.”**

**“I will be eager to hear as well, Mr. Tanner.” Ezra’s cultured voice held a biting tone to it, and Vin could see the expression on his face. There would be concern, of course, but there would be a heavy dose of his ‘are you an idiot’ expression.**

**Vin grimaced. His two best friends were pissed. Ezra was going to give him hell for being vulnerable just to watch the undercover agent’s back. Chris would understand, sort of, but he would still get a glare and one of the leader’s silent lectures.**

The rest of the bust followed the plan like a checklist – which should have been the first clue. It would have been picture perfect except for their target’s paranoia. Vin had expected the first examination of the building. Only an idiot walks into a meet blind. However, at the same moment Ezra signaled the ‘go’ to the waiting agents, the target’s guards did a second full scan of the building. Two of them spotted Vin. Shouts and bullets began flying. He remembered a bullet hitting his leg. The ATF agents were winning, but he was pinned down in the meantime. He felt a sharp burst of pain, and then everything went dark.

His eyes no longer felt so heavy, but he kept them closed as he listened for the sounds he _should_ be hearing. _Where were they?_ They should be here. He could feel his breathing becoming shallow. _Where were they?_ He never woke up in the hospital alone. Chris had promised. If Chris could not be here, Ezra should be. _Where were they?_ His heart rate began to pick up. He could hear the machine picking up. _Where were they?_

One of the main rules of ATF team seven, no one stays at the hospital alone. It might as well have been carved in stone. _Where is everybody?_ They never left a teammate vulnerable. Vin usually had two friends watching over him. _Why can’t I hear them?_ He did not have many phobias, but being alone and vulnerable at the mercy of others topped them.

Vin’s mind began fighting the drugs. _Chris…Ezra…were they hurt? How bad did things go? Where are the others?_ He began thrashing as he pulled out of the drugged haze. He had to get somewhere secure and find the others. The IV line pulled out of his hand. Several of the wires came loose and caused the alarms to go off. _Got to find…_

“Vin!”

His head snapped around. Chris leapt out of the second bed as Ezra rushed from the bathroom. He fell back against his pillow as nurses piled into the room. It did not matter. No one else mattered. _They were here._ He could rest, hospital or not, safe in the shadows of the watch fires.


	3. Remembering the Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old man tells his grandchildren about the Seven.
> 
> Prompt: Retelling a myth or legend
> 
> (As the title says, this is _remembering_ the Seven - all of them have died by the time this story is told.)

“Grandpa!”

The loud exclamation carried throughout the house and brought a double handful of children running from all corners. They bounced around the frail figure that smiled, laughed, and gave them bits of candy from his pockets. When their mothers clucked, he shook his finger at them. “Grandfathers are allowed to spoil grandchildren. It’s our reward for surviving our own children. We are doubly allowed to spoil our great-grandchildren. We’ve lived long enough to earn the right.” They laughed at the face he gave them, and let him alone.

A tug on his pants leg drew his attention to one of the moppets surrounding him. He smiled at the towheaded little boy. “Hey, Scout, what are you looking for?”

“Story, Grandpa?”

The other children began bouncing. “Yes! Story, Grandpa! Tell us a story!”

“Ahem!” Abigail, his oldest grandson’s wife, gave the passel of children a direct look. Her daughter, Irene, blushed. “Sorry, Mama.” She turned to him. “Would you please tell us a story, Grandpa?” She peeked over her shoulder and straightened proudly at the approving smile on her mother’s face.

He laughed. “An excellent idea, sweetheart! Let’s go into the sitting room.” Like the Pied Piper of old, he led them away. “Well, what would you like to hear today?” he asked as he lowered himself into the rocking chair by the fireplace. The children sat on the floor around him.

A clamor rose as several of the children began arguing for their favorites. He shook his head at them and gazed over the group. One of the smaller girls sat quietly to one side. He crooked his finger at her. She made her way over and chewed on a lock of hair. “What would you like to hear, Gretchen?” he asked, pulling her hair out of her mouth.

She glanced around, her eyes wide and shy. When she turned back, she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. “I want to hear about the Seven, Grandpa.”

The other children went quiet and shuffled as close as possible. He gave Gretchen a wink. She ducked her head with a giggle. He rubbed his chin as she sat back down. “The Seven, hmm?” He laughed. “Your parents always loved hearing about them too. I keep telling Abby we should write the stories down, but life’s been busy.”

He leaned back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, drawing his memories out of the treasure box in his mind. “All righty then, let me tell you of the Seven.” He settled even further into the chair as the children leaned forward. “I was only ten years old when I met them. How long ago was that?”

“Seventy years,” Irene answered.

“Right you are,” he nodded. “Four Corners was a little bitty place, barely worthy of the name town, and it was already dying. It was too wild, too dangerous, so families were moving out. Then one day seven men ended up in town. They banded together to deal with some bad men in the area, and they were hired to protect the town. Within one year, Four Corners went from being a dying little town to a much more prosperous and growing town. People were no longer afraid to walk the streets, and it was because of the Seven.” He gave a huff of laughter. “I didn’t think anything of it when I was a boy, but looking back…it must have been something. By themselves, folks wouldn’t think much of those seven men, but put ‘em together? They made a powerful force.” He counted off on his fingers. “You had a gunslinger, a ladies’ man, a greenhorn, a former preacher, a former slave, a bounty hunter, and a gambler. Some folks expected them to stay the thirty days and then scatter. They never did. All seven of them settled down right there in town or on land nearby.”

He coughed. Abigail brought him a cup of tea. “Their leader’s name was Chris Larabee. I used to hear the adults whispering about him, calling him dangerous. They weren’t wrong. Chris had a bit of reputation back in those days as a gunslinger. Couple of the meaner people around town used to claim he only stayed alive because death was too scared to come collect his soul. When he first came into town, he was a gunslinger, plain and simple. He was looking for death, but too something inside wouldn’t let him just quit.”

“Like what, Grandpa?” Tommy asked.

“Well, I’m not sure I rightly know, but he had a strong core, like steel you might say, that kept him going. No matter how surly he got, he was a good man. He always ended up doing what was right in the end. Once he decided something or someone was his to protect, he’d do whatever it took to keep it safe. That’s how he died, you know.”

Gretchen’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

“Yep,” he said. “They’d been protecting Four Corners for six or seven years by that time, long past the thirty days they signed on for, and they’d done a lot of good there. Chris was the best gunman in the territory, but even the best can get taken down.” His eyes darkened with an old sorrow. “For Chris, though, there was no mistake. He chose his end. A group of outlaws tried robbing the local saloon, and they had one of the others pinned down. Chris stepped out to take the shot, knowing the rest of the outlaws would kill him. It didn’t matter to him; he had to save his man’s life. He died knowing his men and the town was as safe as he could leave ‘em.”

“Who did Chris save?”

He ruffled Jake’s hair. “He saved his oldest friend, Buck Wilmington.” He laughed. “Buck was larger than life. To me, he was a giant! Well, most of them were, but something about Buck really stuck out. He liked to laugh and tease, even when things got difficult. He could be serious, but I always remember Buck with a smile.” He gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, and he did love flirting with all the girls! It didn’t matter to him who the girl was, he would flirt. Probably the best way to describe Buck is comfortable. He was comfortable with whom he was; he never tried to fit into any one niche. He just went through life, living each day without worrying about the next one.”

Irene tilted her head. “What happened to Buck?”

“Buck lived a good, long life. He’d made promises, and he had to live long enough to keep ‘em. As a matter of fact, he lived to ring in the new century. He was the fifth one to pass on, and he got to go quietly in his sleep. He made sure the Seven’s kinfolk were thriving before he left, just like he promised.”

A couple of the girls sniffled, and the boys looked serious, but he just smiled. “No reason to be sad. He did what he set out to do, and he was ready to move on. He said something about having to see if the angels were as pretty as his girls.” The children laughed and he gave a nod. “That’s better. Now you can’t really discuss Buck without talking about one JD Dunne.”

“JD?”

He looked over to Nick. “That’s what he went by, JD Dunne. If I recall correctly, I think it stood for John Daniel, but I might be wrong. Nobody used his full name, so it’s easy to forget.” He thought for a moment and shrugged. “Anyways, JD came from back east when he was only nineteen. His mama had passed away and he wanted to get away from the memories. He was on the stagecoach for California when it passed through Four Corners. There was a gunfight going on, so he jumped off.”

“Why?” The question rose from several voices.

“He’d come West looking for excitement. I guess he figured this was as good a place as any. He was a complete greenhorn. He had no clue about any of the rules of life in the West, and tended to jump into things without thinking first. Fortunately, Buck decided to adopt him, kind of like being his big brother. All six of the others ended up looking out for him, teaching him. My mama always said those six men had done a better job than most at raising a boy to be a man without turning him mean.”

He sighed. “I remember JD as fun-loving. He didn’t brag like Buck did, but he was boisterous and fun for a little boy to be around. He taught me how to use a sling-shot.” He smiled as the boys cheered. “Yep, and he would let me ‘help’ guard the town.” His smile turned into a grin. “Of course, if anything happened, he would have me inside the nearest building before I had a chance to look up. Mostly I got to walk with him when he did his rounds of the town. He’d even let me wear his badge when I walked with him.”

“JD got married a few years after coming to town. He married Casey Wells. She was one of the local girls, and she had inherited her great-aunt’s ranch. JD still rode with the others, but instead of staying around town, he would go out and work the horses. They had a little boy.” His eyes grew distant. “Everybody expected JD to be the last of the Seven to pass. Didn’t work out that way.” The children’s eyes grew wide. He nodded. “He was out riding, looking over the herd, when he came on a band of rustlers. They started shooting at him. He managed to send them running, but he’d been injured pretty badly. His horse brought him home, and he held on long enough for the others to get there.”

He paused. “Casey told me about it a few years later. She would still get misty-eyed when she remembered. She said the six men gathered around the bed, holding vigil over him. He was dying, and they couldn’t stop it. All they could do was be there. JD woke up for a few minutes, talking to all of them. He told them about the rustlers, and Chris promised to take care of them. Then JD asked Buck to take care of Casey and their son. Buck was the godfather of course, but he promised again to keep them safe. Not long after, JD fell back to sleep. He drifted away that night, the first of the Seven to go.”

After a few minutes of silence, Jake piped up. “What about the rustlers?”

“Not one of those villains ever rustled another horse,” he answered firmly. The mothers in the doorway stirred, but stayed quiet. “The other men saw to that.”

The children looked at him with wide eyes, and he nodded. “Justice was wilder in those days. We didn’t have all the police officers, and courts, and everything you’ve got around here now. People had to take care of themselves back then. Four Corners had it better than most with the Seven.” He scratched his chin. “Let’s see, who is next?” He tilted his head in thought. “Ah, when it came to people taking care of themselves, one of the best was Ezra Standish.”

“Ezra Standish was the least likely man to be riding with this group. A gambler and a con man, he had grown up learning how to win at every game of chance ever created. People would always try to catch him cheating at cards, and they never did. They said that meant he could cheat too well. That wasn’t right. He could just play that well. He was gifted when it came to the card games, and people hated to lose. It nearly got him in trouble more often than not, but the other six always defended him. After a while, the townsfolk came to do the same thing. Any stranger accusing him of cheating was laughed down. If they couldn’t recognize the difference between good and cheat, then they deserved to lose their money.”

“Humph,” Abigail sniffed. “If you’re going to gamble with a gambler, you should lose. Teach you to put your money to better use.”

He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Ezra did have a love for money though. He was always trying some new scheme. Some people thought money was all he cared about. They didn’t pay enough attention. For all his love of money, he would leave everything to help people, especially his friends and any child. He loved children, and they would follow him like the Pied Piper. Ezra would tell stories and do magic tricks for us.”

“Magic?” Jake asked, eyes growing wide with delight.

“Yep,” he answered. “Mostly card tricks of course, but they were fun to watch. He’d go with us on picnics, and he would take us up on his horse for a quick ride about town. The little girls all adored him because he would dance with them at the parties. Ezra always had time for the children; he would sit and talk or answer questions for longer than almost any other adult.” He smiled softly. “Ezra liked to dress up too. He liked soft fabrics and bright colors. I remember him best in a bright red jacket. He was no town softy though. He could keep up with the others, either on the trail or in a fight. He just complained more than the others did. Then he got sick with consumption.”

He sighed. “Ezra ignored the signs for a while, too long as it turned out. They had still been mourning Chris, and he thought it was nothing to worry about. By the time the others knew he was sick, it was too late. It had too firm a grip on him, and he didn’t last much longer. The others stayed close, taking care of him as best they could. Josiah told me later that Ezra had been afraid to die, but one morning all that changed. When asked about it, he told the others he had a dream of Chris and JD. They were waiting, so he wouldn’t be alone. He had one more day with them, peaceful and ready to say goodbye. Only Vin was with him later that night when he breathed his last.”

The room sat in silence for a few minutes. The tiniest of the girls stood up and patted his hand. “No be sad, Gwanpa.”

He shook himself and smiled at her. “You’re right, little Carol, I shouldn’t be sad. Ezra had a good last few years, with family and friends. Now, speaking of ‘wilder justice,’ let me tell you about Vin Tanner. Vin was a bounty hunter. He’d go riding throughout the territory and find the bad guys to bring ‘em back for court. It was a dangerous job, and a bad man by the name of Eli Joe set him up. People believed he was a murderer, and they put a bounty on his head. Now he had to watch out for other hunters while he was working.”

“He didn’t murder anybody though!” Irene protested.

“Nope, he sure didn’t, but the only one who could testify to his innocence was the man who set him up. It must have been a hard life, being an innocent man on the run. Well, he came into Four Corners to do a little work and buy some supplies. He only expected to be there for a few days.” He chuckled. “Ended up never leaving. In Four Corners, Vin found a home and a whole pack of brothers willing to watch his back for him. He and Chris were closest despite a ten year age difference. They always seemed to have this quiet connection that went just a little bit deeper than the others.”

“Why?” Tommy asked.

“I can’t answer that one. Both of them were a bit like lost souls, so maybe that was it. I never did hear anybody explain it. It was just one of those things everyone took for granted. Vin was a quiet man most of the time. He hated being cooped up, preferring to sleep in his wagon where he could hear the night noises and see the stars. Vin could shoot the eye out of a sparrow, but he had a real gentle spirit. Although he didn’t learn to read or write until he came to Four Corners, he would compose poetry in his head. He started writing them down after he learned to write. Some ten years or so after he passed away, Buck took the various poems and got them published. He thought it was a fitting way to honor his friend. I think one of his poems even got an award.”

“Wow,” Irene breathed.

He gave her an appraising look. “I’ll have to find my copy of the book for you, little poet. You would enjoy it best I think.” Her eyes grew wide and she gave him a dazzling smile. He chuckled. “Vin would have approved. Anyway, he didn’t live long after Chris died. He always seemed to be missing something. The others helped, especially Ezra, but it wasn’t quite the same. Then Ezra got sick. I think losing JD and especially Chris, and then having to face the likelihood of losing Ezra just broke his heart. He grew even quieter as the days passed. He was drifting away from them in spirit even while his body was still there. Nathan once talked to me about how badly it hurt to be losing two friends at once, and how much it tore at him to be unable to help either one. That last night, Vin sat to watch over Ezra and give Nathan a chance to rest. I remember that next morning. The whole town went into mourning over the loss of the two men. Vin’s heart stopped in his sleep. We decided he couldn’t let Ezra go by himself to meet the others.”

He sat quietly, remembering the sorrow of those days.

“What happened to Josiah?” Jake asked.

He nodded. “Josiah Sanchez was the oldest of the Seven. The way the adults talked, you would think he was the biggest of all of them. He was actually shorter than two of the others, but he had a powerful presence. His voice could fill a church without half trying. When he got mad, even the other Seven would step back. Buck used to tease him about going ‘Old Testament’ on the bad guys.”

“Old Testament?” Gretchen asked.

“It just means he could get tough with them, sweetheart. You’d expect him to follow more Christian teachings, but he had a temper on him. Now Josiah was always searching for the divine. He’d been looking for God and his place in the world for a long time. He once told me that becoming part of the Seven proved God had a sense of humor. He’d always wanted to be a shepherd, and here God gave him six of the orneriest, mischievous trouble magnets in the West.”

“But, Grandpa,” Nick frowned, “that’s what you call us!”

“Where do you think I learned it?” he teased. “With Josiah being the oldest, everyone expected to lose him first. Instead, he almost outlived the whole passel of them! Josiah lived to be seventy-five years old. He saw the new century come in with the families of the Seven. When Buck passed, Josiah told him to tell the others he’d be coming along soon to see how they’d been behaving. I remember Buck giving him a big smile and saying he figured the others had been keeping busy. They weren’t the sorts to sit and strum harps.”

The boys snickered at the thought of the tough peace-keepers playing the harp. He shook his head at them. “Now, let me tell you about Nathan Jackson.”

“I’m named for him!” The oldest of the boys bounced in place, a proud grin stretching over his lips. “Aren’t I, Grandpa?”

“That’s right, you are,” he replied, patting young Nate on the shoulder. “Nathan Jackson was one of the most compassionate men I ever met. He believed in healing people, body and soul. Nathan had a hard life, a life that might have turned a lot of people bitter; not Nathan though. He’d been a slave once, back east, but he’d escaped and ended up helping the doctors in the Union Army. He learned some medicine there. He wasn’t a doctor, but he knew more about taking care of hurts and sicknesses than most people. The others used to tease him about his medicines, but they took them. “

“Why’d they tease him?” Gretchen asked.

He chuckled. “The medicines all tasted bad. Nathan once told me he thought they had a wager on who could come up with the worst comparison for them. I can’t repeat some of their ideas, or your mama’s will end up washing all of our mouths with soap.”

“And we will, too,” Abigail laughed from the doorway. “I can’t believe you heard them at ten years old!”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “Folks didn’t always remember to watch what they said in those days. Of course, my mama could be fast with water and a bar of soap too.” Everyone laughed. “Nathan was the last of the Seven. He almost lived long enough to see Gretchen’s daddy come into the world. He died about four years before John was born. He worked as a healer clear up until the end, helping the poorer folks who couldn’t afford a doctor. Things were better though; his son Daniel ended up becoming one of the first black doctors. I remember when Daniel got his degree. People were so proud! Four Corners threw a big celebration for him. The son of a former slave from a little backwater town was now a certified doctor.”

“Good for him,” Nate said proudly, smiling at his grandfather.

“Yeah, he did well,” he answered, tousling the boy’s hair. “Not long after that, families began drifting away from Four Corners, looking for better opportunities in California or back east. With the others gone, Nathan had no reason to stay. When his son went to San Francisco after the big earthquake, Nathan went with him. He lived almost another ten years, working and helping his son. Nathan kept in touch with me, telling me what his family was up to, and the other families of the Seven. When he got sick, he sent me a wire asking me to come out. When I got there, he told Daniel and me that he wanted to be buried back in Four Corners with the others. We promised him, and he went to sleep peacefully. He never did wake up.” He gazed over the children’s heads, looking back in his memories. “Daniel and I sent wires to all of the families. When we got back to Four Corners, it was a shock for me to see it. I knew it had been dying, but I never expected it to be a ghost town. Absolutely empty it was.” He shook his head. “Well, we had a better surprise when we reached the cemetery. People surrounded the place. There were members of all the remaining families there to help lay Nathan to rest.”

He shook his head. “The last of the Seven was gone. It didn’t seem quite real to me, but then it never did when we lost one. They never did make it into the history books, but the people that knew them could never forget. Who knows how many other families keep passing on the stories, telling the legends.” He cleared his throat. “After Nathan’s death, the families drifted apart. Some sooner than others, but they had all moved away from Four Corners years before. I’d still hear from Daniel every so often and he would mention it. It’s a bit sad that the bonds didn’t follow into the next generations, but it’s real easy to get caught up in the task of living. And who knows? One day in the future, maybe some of ‘em will meet up and tell their stories.”

“Do you really think so, Grandpa Billy?” Gretchen asked, touching his hand.

William “Billy” Travis pulled his granddaughter up onto his lap. “Yes, sweetheart, I think they will. The world still needs heroes, and the Seven were definitely that. Hurt, lost, and sometimes broken, but always heroes. People will always need those kinds of stories. One day, somehow, I even think the Seven will ride again.”


	4. Memories - Old and New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris considers his life.
> 
> Prompt: Diaries & Journals

Chris Larabee sat in front of his cabin door and stared at the book in his hands. A small, nondescript little thing, but it held his attention as few things could. The leather cover bore scorch marks and some of the pages appeared singed. His entire body trembled as he ran a finger over the binding.

Sarah’s journal.

It had been more than six years since the fire that destroyed his life. He thought the journal lost with his wife and son, but his oldest friend, Buck Wilmington, had managed to rescue some odds and ends from the burnt out cabin. The journal was one of them. He gave it to Chris earlier this morning.

_”Figured you were ready,” Buck said with a sad smile._

Chris rubbed his hand over the cover. Should he open it? Should he take the opportunity to reconnect with her again? Sarah never let him read the journal. She said it was between her and God, and he just wait until she was ready to tell him. He had promised to leave it alone. But then, he had made a lot of promises.

Promises he never got to keep.

First and foremost, he had promised to make her happy and keep her safe. He promised Adam the same thing when he was born. Tears burned the back of his throat. His eyes drifted up to glare at the empty landscape before him. He remembered carrying his son through the cabin and out under the stars. Chris felt his breath catch as he heard himself promising Adam a world of opportunities.

_”All this is going to be yours one day,” he murmured to his newborn baby boy. “The open sky, the free spaces, and a home to keep you safe – it’ll all be yours.”_

His heart clenched. Promises made, but promises broken. He had been lover, husband, and father – a family man after years of wild living. Sarah gave him that; Adam sealed it. Losing them had broken him – he lost his family, his meaning, his very identity the day they died.

Who was he now? Who had he become?

Loud shouts and laughter brought his head up sharply. A sharp grin slid over his face as he watched two of his men racing their horses chasing after a third member of their fellowship. The final three men kept their mounts at a sedate ramble as they laughed and shouted encouragement to the others. He would have to find out exactly what Vin had done this time to gain Buck and JD’s ire.

Chris glanced back down at the journal.

He stepped inside the cabin and put the journal under his pillow. He would not read it; that would be one promise he would not break. Life had given him a second chance three years ago, and he had fallen into the opportunity without even realizing it. While the loss of Sarah and Adam still ripped at him, he had new faces, new names to bolster his identity, to remind him of who he was.

Leader, friend, brother – a good legacy for his family’s memory.


	5. Restraints, Scars, and Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are no restraints so heavy as our own fears. There are no scars so deep as those of our hearts. There are no threats so frightening as the loss of what we hold dear.

Click for full size - created for 1366x768.

[ ](http://i591.photobucket.com/albums/ss355/Caitriona3/Bingo/wallpaper.jpg)   



	6. The Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra is trying to find his way out.
> 
> Prompt: Blowing Tumbleweeds

_”Trying to escape the only way he could.”_

_“But…”_

_“No buts. Damn bastards were starving him.”_

_“He had to know we were comin’.”_

_“Maybe – but he didn’t know how long we’d be before finding him.”_

_“Probably the only way out he could see.”_

Ezra floated in the darkness, his thoughts scattered and skittering like the tumbleweeds blowing across the desert. He knew those voices, didn’t he? He couldn’t think. Something wasn’t right here. Was he dead? He thought he should be. He felt weak, heavy, like he was merging into the surface below him.

_”Where’s the damn broth? We need to start gettin’ somethin’ in him or we’re gonna lose him.”_

Gentle eyes, deft hands, a stubborn mouth…yes, he knew that voice. The Healer. Why couldn’t he come up with a name? Healer, healer…the name skipped just out of his reach.

_”Here it is! Mrs. Potter’s got more on the stove if we need it.”_

He knew that one too. The Kid. Open smile, quick hands, bright eyes…who? Could a name hide?

A trickled of warmth seemed to enter his body. It was trying to stop the merging.

_”Who the hell treats a man like that? Starvin’ him? It’s not right!”_

The Rogue. He felt amusement winding through the tumbleweeds. That voice belonged to laughing eyes, open hands, and wide grins. The name bubbled in his mind but the thought fled before he could grab it.

The trickle of warmth disappeared and coolness flowed instead. He realized it was something being dripped into his mouth. What type of mouth did he have?

_”Come, brother, a little more water, and then you can have more broth.”_

The deep voice called up a vision in his mind of a serious mouth, strong hands, and piercing eyes. The Preacher. The name, the name, he could almost see it. He just needed a little more light.

A loud bang assaulted his ears.

_”Best settle a bit, Cowboy. You’re goin’ to get him upset. He’s got enough to be worryin’ about just gettin’ better.”_

He knew that one…he could taste the name. It rose to his lips, but evaporated before the he could do more than breathe. The Tracker. Astute eyes, steady hands, and an amused mouth – he wanted to remember his name.

The warm trickle returned. Now he could taste the flavor as it slid past his tongue. Why couldn’t he open his eyes? He wanted to see…to see…them. He wondered how they would describe his eyes.

_”Settle, hell! I’ll settle when we find the bastards. He had to throw himself off a damned cliff in a damn attempt at suicide to escape! We’re just lucky he managed to hit that ledge. They’ll be twisting in the wind before I settle.”_

Dark eyes, hard hands, and an angry mouth…his thoughts paused in their tumbling. He knew that one. The Leader. He really, really knew that one. A quick inhale and the noise around him died abruptly. He opened his mouth, but only coughed. He licked his lips, trying to moisten them. He knew that name.

A steady, warm hand pressed down on his forehead. “Ezra?” A calm voice reached his ears.

Tremors raced down his spine. The warmth on his forehead began to waken his other senses. He could feel a clawing sensation starting to dig at his stomach as pain carved itself across his body. His hands shook. Were they weak?

“Ezra?” The calm voice became more insistent. “Wake up now. You’re safe.”

Safe? Of course he was safe. He knew that voice. He had to tell them he knew that voice. He couldn’t let them worry. His eyelids fluttered and the light seared into his vision. He closed them once more.

“No,” insisted the voice. “Look at me.”

Almost without thought his eyes opened. He blinked. They felt dry and hollow. His thoughts gathered themselves, forcing his mind to concentrate on the blurry figure sitting beside him, leaning towards him. All of the tumbleweeds stopped and steadied as he met the stormy eyes that belonged to that voice, the voice that led him out of the desert.

“Chris…?”


End file.
